Methos Is Doomed
by Gojirob
Summary: While running a game software start-up in the UK, Cassandra seizes a chance for the perfect vengeance on Methos. Trapped in an interactive first-person shooter, The Oldest finds that Death is the least of his problems, and Cass learns anew of consequences


Methos is Doomed  
by Rob Morris

**Prologue - White Witch Glitch**

WHITE WITCH SOFTWARE  
DOVER, UK

JULY, 1996

The lead programmer was an amoral horny geek who liked to try and see his shapely boss naked repeatedly and often.

Despite this, he was a superior artisan, one of the best crafters of 'first-person shooters' in the overcrowded market. All he had ever asked at the legendary ID Software was a Strip Hall every Friday. They had failed to deliver. But while she despised him, the Immortal known as Cassandra never did. Her Voice took care of the rest, guiding him away from his pursuit of her unclad form. It was a hateful arrangement, but she had endured far worse.

"Cass--we have a problem. The level of interactivity on the new Doom-Clone is sky-high. Sucks the viewer in, makes them dizzy, then off it goes. Back to the shop for refunds."

"Andrew--software shops don't give refunds."

"You've never dealt with a recalcitrant customer, Pretty Lady. You must look awesome naked. But customers posses naked fury when the wares don't work."

He had to slip that in, she thought. But he was right. The shops would rather give the unthinkable refunds than argue.

"How, then, to make it interactive enough to compete in the marketplace but not enough to help the trial lawyers earn their keep?"

He shrugged.

"We don't till Monday. I'm working the strip circuit, back city-way. It's not as good as the circuit back home, but the babes are more --interactive."

The poor fool thought he was cool. That was the damned pity.

"It's 11 now. Try to see what six hours will yield. I'll order in."

The genius slacker walked off, nodding. At least he was professional in this. The opportunity to get the next big first-person shooter out was not to be missed. Cassandra didn't much care for the software game business. Its love of casual violence and sexism rivaled that of her four enslavers. But soon, she would make a killing, have enough money to last her several decades, and withdraw as was her wont. The 20th Century had been quite eventful enough, and she had definite ideas about sitting out the 21st.

She checked her messages, sent through various media. None from Duncan, and that was odd. Every week since the battle in Bordeaux, The Highlander had called her, vainly attempting to talk, asking if she was angry with him. She wasn't. But she sure as hell did not want to talk. She just wanted to walk away. From her loves. From her hates. From her vengeance. From her past.

For all that, she looked forward to MacLeod calls, a sure sign that The Champion who had so handily defeated Kantos--as The Prophecy foretold--was continuing to endure. Why had he given up on her? The man was not known to give up.

"Hey, Cass? There's a guy here to see you. Looks like a primultimate mystery man. You want I should let him in?"

She smiled, as she felt the buzz. With a dagger in her purse for safety, she went out to approach a man who never gave up. For surely it was Duncan, come to make a personal appeal. The little geek programmer would drool in envy of what she would do to her young student.

She went out, a predatory grin upon her face. In seconds, though, her grin was gone and her dagger was drawn. But her visitor held her arm fast.

"I'm here to talk, damn you!"

"We'll talk---after I have your heart! Then we'll see if you somehow keep alive, after that."

Methos smiled.

"I Love You, Too, Cassandra. Now may we talk?"

"Go to Hell!"

"Been there, done her. Now drop the knife, or I'll break your hand in such a way that it'll take days to truly heal."

She did just that, and he pushed the knife away, never turning his back on her. She spat one word.

"Talk."

Wisely resisting a quip, he went to the point of his admittedly risky visit.

"The Prophecy you told MacLeod of? Was it fulfilled?"

The question and its wording were almost too straightforward for Methos, she thought.

"Kantos is dead. The battle was almost not a battle, after Duncan overcame The Voice. Still, had he continued..."

She trailed off. As Sidney Freedman had once pointed out, Roland Kantos had been mostly self-defeating, and had relied overmuch on what was, in the end, merely a gimmick. Had he beaten Duncan, there were others, good and bad, who could have done so. An odd mental joy rose in her as she imagined Kantos trying his toy out on Kronos.

Methos spoke again.

"Kantos was a bug. Waiting, begging to be stepped on. There was no way he was the subject of any prophecy."

She was forced to agree, damning his logic more than his one-time use of sheer brute force. At least she could always wriggle out of his grasp, then.

"Your point?"

He still looked like Death, she thought, but not Harsh Death. No, this Death was more fearsome. This was the Judge at the end of your life. The one who weighed all evidence. The one who accepted no excuses.

"My point? Two weeks ago, MacLeod seemingly went insane. Started seeing Horton. Started seeing Kronos. Killed Richie Ryan, a boy like his own son. All the while yelling and screaming about a millennial Babylonian evil."

Cassandra almost choked.

"Ahriman. Are you telling me the Prophecy referred to---"

The bastard actually had the nerve to get angry with her.

"Like a fool, Ryan didn't keep his sword raised. Like a false friend, I chose to dismiss MacLeod's concerns. Like a weakling needing protection, you gave a skewed reading of the Prophecy. Ryan was young and I've been a monster. What, then, is your poor excuse, woman?"

The rage, almost in control for a year, flared anew.

"Anything Else?!"

He threw down a card.

"This is where I'm staying, till Monday. I'm counting on your love for MacLeod to be stronger than your hate for me. He's disappeared, Cassandra --and I mean to find and help him. If you have anything--and I do mean anything--that can help him in his struggle, you call and tell me."

She looked dazed, so he slammed down his fists on the desk, to rouse her.

"You owe him, dammit! You owe the finest man either of us have ever known! I walked away from him. You fed him self-serving misinformation. Now is the time to make things right."

Without another word or a backwards glance, Methos departed, leaving Cassandra as angry as she had ever been.

"Here. The monster came here. There is no safety."

Drifting into a calm fog, she entered the lead programmer's office. She spun his chair around.

"Listen up, you pencil-necked voyeur. You want to see it all? You want me to shake it? Give you a lap dance? Well?"

He nodded, certain he had dozed off and was dreaming.

"Sure!"

"Then forget the weekend. By Sunday night, I want the new '4H'shooter up and on line--with an interactivity level 1000 times what you currently have. Can you do it?"

He was shaking and sweating.

"Yeah. B-But at that level, it won't just make a user dizzy. The game will become...."

She covered his mouth.

"I'll strip down for you, right here, in this office. It's ever so important--a gift for the oldest acquaintance I have. Sunday night?"

He went straight to his terminal.

"Let's Ride!"

She closed the door, and giggled lightly that such a simple thing as nudity was going to buy her revenge such as she had dreamed of for three millennia.

But in her understandable zeal, she had forgotten that it wasn't only Methos that MacLeod was trying to save in Bordeaux. When he urged her to spare The Oldest--he was talking about a path that leads nowhere.

With her mind in a red fog and with her dignity and morals compromised, Cassandra tread merrily down a path that had at least four other sets of prints.

**Chapter One - 3-D Horsemen**

Come that Sunday night, the programmer had Cassandra's breakthrough.

"I went in the opposite direction. I decided not to overwhelm the user. By making it clear that this was an artificial world, it'll allow his senses to suck him in slowly. He won't be able to simply shake it off. Each time he dies---it'll become more and more real. Real slippery slope."

Cass smiled. Everything was just about perfect.

"You'll have your payment when I am dead certain he is trapped. Breathe a word of this, or attempt to extort me--and I will leave you a penniless, memory-robbed husk that will never again even be able to look at a strip-club marquee."

The programmer smiled dumbly.

"Yer not wearing a bra, are you?"

Cass left him with that thought, and contacted Methos.

"Yes--my team has searched the internet. Duncan is clever--but actually quite predictable in terms of the aliases he uses. Come and look at what we have--and then I sincerely hope to not see you again for another 2500 years."

As he made his drive, Cass set the basic trap. A series of microphones, speakers, and reverb-delays had been placed throughout her office.

"Cassandra?"

She was startled by his arrival, and the accompanying buzz. She made a connection.

"You were always in the village. What, were you next door?"

The Oldest smiled for what the woman known to The Romans as Vox Domina hoped was the last time.

"Two houses over, actually. Close enough to hear a lot of dialing up. That told me you were doing your homework."

She allowed her general anger at this man to boil over briefly.

"Are you my teacher, Methos--to give me homework?"

The Oldest was seemingly unflappable.

"Wellll--I think I must be your teacher, my dear. After all, we both manipulated MacLeod into protecting us from enemies with a distinctive voice, the first time we each met him."

Knowing what was to come, Cassandra allowed this to pass without comment.

"Well, since Duncan is our concern, let me pull the disk out of my desk drawer, and then you can..."

Methos grabbed her hand, proving he did not understand or comprehend her as nothing else could.

"Yes. You go into your desk, pull a gun, and take my head. I'm a survivor, girl--just like yourself. I have a web addy. E-Mail it all to there. That's all I needed you for. Now--I leave."

He tossed her his card with the addy like a john tossing his whore a twenty, or so it seemed to Cassandra. As he left, she moved to stage two of the trap.

The Vox Domina used her power.

"Methos--cut off your own head."

As she fully expected, he turned and laughed.

"Girl--that didn't work on Kronos, and I am a good millennium older than he was. Cut off your own head, and I don't believe I need to tell you where to stick it."

But now it was Cass who smiled.

"The Voice is an ancient power, Methos. Knowing well of the ancient powers, you are of course resistant to it. In fact--someone like you probably keeps up with modern powers as well."

He nodded.

"Of course I do. For example, did you know that Kronos' little viral pal, while still virulent, was actually up to 40 years out of date? He obtained it when we were both serving in Korea. Of course, he wasn't sure I was there. Before I deserted, after my son's death, I spoke with MacLeod's friend Colonel Potter about the man he had called Kronopoulis."

Cass moved in, surreptitiously turning on her stereo system, which she had been calibrating and building up almost since the battle in Bordeaux. Of course Methos saw her do this, but paid it no mind. He actually liked the thought that she would need music to calm her down, after he left.

"Was that the boy who became your son after you married that country-bumpkin blind girl?"

Methos' eyes darkened, and narrowed.

"Whatever I have done to you--whatever I represent--do not see fit to EVER mock Mary Ingalls. She was one of the finest people from one of the finest families you could ever hope to meet. She reminded me sometimes of another Mary."

Cass chose to mock him, danger or no.

"Truly? Are we claiming divinity, Methos? Or are you claiming that the world's Christians are just dead wrong?"

His own anger now began to rise, and it was only his desire to leave her and all her presence reminded him of that fought it down.

"Ours was a maintenance marriage. She never shared my bed. Wherever Yeshua came from, she was genuine. When I 'died', she married and had many unquestionably legitimate children. So, Voice-Lady, just who is blaspheming people of other faiths, here?"

The trap was set, and Cassandra spoke again. She had already downed several nutrition bars, and kept a gallon of fruit juice at the ready, for what would surely be a draining effort.

"Methos--sit down at the computer."

He tried to laugh again, but instead found himself sitting down.

"What---I--this can't---"

"Be Silent."

And he was, or was compelled to strongly enough that he felt he could not fight it. Cass spoke.

"Strap on the interactive VR gear."

Unable to resist, and unable to figure out why he couldn't resist, Methos put on the vest, gloves, belt, glasses, and headpiece.

"Enjoy the 4H Beta--and say hello for me, to The Boys."

The game began, and Methos saw only the logo.

"Riders Through The Apocalypse?"

Finding himself in a pixilated world, Methos saw that he was in a small room, having a shielded suit and a small pistol, perhaps containing as little as 50 rounds.

"Best to move forward, then."

His equilibrium in tatters, Methos found the switch to exit the small room. Outside of it were about 17 rifle-wielding thugs. They were pale, skinny--and hungry looking. All the same image, Methos knew their digitized faces.

"Caspian?"

The C-Thugs grunted and unloaded their rifles into Methos, who died.

"Not...good."

A moment later, he awoke in the same starting room, feeling slightly less nauseous. Again he tripped the door, but this time closed it up again upon seeing The Caspians.

"All right. Quickly, by the numbers."

Opening the door, Methos fired and killed three of The Caspians straight off before the others returned fire. When he next opened the door, six more fell before he took two bullets himself.

"Hellooo...I'm not healing."

But he also wasn't dying. He was hurt, to be sure. But he could function.

"Eight more."

When next he opened the door, one Caspian was standing right there, but was slow enough for Methos to kill. Grabbing the fallen one's rifle, he rapidly thinned the remaining crew down to three. But in the process, he took as many bullets. Now, he was dying and felt like it.

"First-Aid?"

Reaching for a nearby medical kit, he expected only to bind his more grievous wounds. Instead, he was completely healed, merely by touching it.

"Curiouser still. Cassandra- -what exactly did you put me in?"

Intending to grab two rifles, but finding he was only able to add ammo to his existing one, Methos opened the door and killed two more Caspians before the third could emerge. While it managed to fire, Methos carefully ducked, and put the rifle straight at its head.

"I never liked you."

He pulled the trigger, and the Caspian fell. Gathering all the weapons and ammo he could, Methos moved forward.

"Another switch. An exit?"

But when he flipped that switch, the walls opened up, and yet more Caspians appeared--and this time they had company. Large, beefy, bearded men carrying gatling chain guns like they weighed nothing and had no backfire.

"Silas?"

The chain-guns fired in unison, and Methos was ground into hamburger. Again, he awoke in the first room.

"Oh---joy."

**Chapter Two - Like A Beta To Hell**

On the inside, Methos slowly learned the tricks of the game he was forced to endure. For example, by rushing out from that first room and hitting the switch quickly, he endured few wounds before re-entering his safe haven. Meanwhile, the Caspians and Silases, who liked each other no more in digital form than the real brothers had, wiped themselves away. When Methos emerged, he collected their shotguns, gatling guns, and ammo, as well as some loose kevlar armor. He smiled as he reached the area marked exit, after 200 'deaths'.

"Can't be too many enemies in this little game of yours, Cassandra. After all, there were only the four of us."

Methos knew now, how Cassandra had trapped him. It was quite simple. Methos knew how to resist the Voice. It was a simple matter of denying that it could control you. Of course it could, but once one accepted that it could make you so much as clench a fist, you were lost. The power was meant to stun you by the mere fact that you could be controlled. Having been raised in a time of both real and phony wizards, The Horsemen knew that a man could be controlled. Modern folk tended to be floored by that concept.

"But you--you put on that audio delay. Clever girl. My mind couldn't tell what it was hearing. You had me--precisely because I didn't believe I could be had. Like any chump."

Both Methos and Cassandra knew that time was an illusion, especially to their kind. Therefore he had no idea how long he had been in the game. This situation, however, was probably the most tolerable. He had endured it literally countless times. In fact, had either Duncan or Kronos known that their battle, which seemed to last a meager twelve minutes, actually went on for twelve hours, then even the victor would have lost his head to an embolism.

"Now, we depart your hallowed halls, my dear, as I open this exit..."

Barely dodging a fireball, an enraged Methos absolutely unloaded into the exit guardian, and cursed himself for not realizing one would be there.

"And hello to you, too--Brothe--"

But as Methos inspected the dead, spiked demon, he saw that its face was not, as he expected, modeled after Kronos. Instead, it was a foe Methos hated almost as much--for it had been he who drove him out of hiding.

"Kalas. And demonism hasn't improved his opera singing at all. Then again--his baritone always was wretched."

Exiting the level, Methos was a man doubly frustrated. Not only was Cassandra somehow aware of his other enemies, but the end-level screen he saw indicated he had missed 75% of the board, and whatever secrets lay there.

At the beginning of the second level he found another frustration.

"I'm out of ammunition!"

Having angrily unloaded into the Kalas-demon cost him his life, just then--again. But at least he awoke in the new level's beginning, and not the previous one's. That was a small comfort.

"Now, my entry friends are become hamburger helper. Who's next?"

He saw, then. A giant, floating, blonde-tressed head with one eye. Methos got out a name before it blasted him into oblivion.

"Kristin?"

When she finally fell, 15 deaths later, Methos actually did a little dance--that tripped a shadowed switch and unleashed twenty more like her.

"No rages, no dances. Mighty short acts in this show."

* * *

In the real world, where Cass had secured Methos in a back room of her house with its own emergency generator and IV Feed -- as well as IV drain -- she found the straw that broke the camel's back.

Marching back to her Software Firm, sword in hand, she entered the lead programmer's office. He smiled.

"Watsup, Boss-Lady?"

Cassandra ran him through.

"Truth."

As the mortal gasped for air, she continued to glare at him.

"That striptease I did for you? Imagine my surprise, to find it posted on The Internet. Some might argue that's no reason to end a man's life. And I might agree--but the 13-year old twins who live in the next building have spoken of a skinny voyeur. Apparently, many children in this area have. Imagine my further surprise to discover that you had not been let go for a dearth of perks at your previous employer's. No, you had not a shortness of perks--but a shortness of eyes. Do you know how low someone like you is? I once knew a cannibal, who while he relished the flesh of children, refused the flesh--of child molesters. G'bye. You shan't be missed, I should think."

Due to her power, no one at all saw Cass dispose of the body. But her junior programmers came up against a problem, without their amoral but brilliant leader.

"Dude--we like need a serious Easter Egg. Maybe Boss-Lady as a Naked Spectre Boss?"

"No--way. I don't know what happened to CB, but she truly fired his ass, for posting. Besides, they already took her pics down. Some babe from B5 is up in her place. Same one that played Cat Grant on Lois+Clark."

"No nudies, then. But we need an egg worth admission. The Invincor Codes will totally not be nuff said."

An idea struck the second one.

"What about CB's beta? There's not enough levels--but if we like realllly warn about the dangers of major interactivity, and make it a death match thang, they'll all line up."

"Problem--o. CB's beta doesn't negate the Invincor codes. Bad karma for death matches."

The other one shrugged.

"So let em' eat cake. Its an Easter Egg, ya know? Its like supposed to be glitchy, like the second Reptile you found in MK1, if you found him during Endurance 1 on the Genesis. Remember Reptile Sonya, Reptile Johnny, and Reptile Raiden?"

He nodded.

"I liked the original Sonya better than that PlayBabe they got later."

The other nodded, both in desperate need of lives.

"Its human tragedy, man. Like when they trimmed Lara Croft's frontage. Thanks be the imbalance was restored."

So the Easter Egg was implanted in the soon-to-be shipped copies of 'Riders On The Apocalypse', and soon the Four Horsemen would be riding The Net. But this would happen in a much realer way than Cassandra had wanted or anticipated.

**Chapter Three - On The Road To Damnation** (We Certainly Do Get Around)

Inside the virtual world, Methos did not have to wonder at Cassandra's model for the world he saw outside of his battleground.

"A hellish Caravan. Care to be any more direct, my dear?"

The months--and he could now be certain it had been months--ate away at him. He had died hundreds of times in the real world, and millions of times in the virtual one. How it had completely consumed him was a puzzle, but one he chose not to dwell on overlong. He was trapped, and any possible exit he had uncovered merely unleashed another trap, causing another quick and painful death.

"You'd think I'd get used to it. You'd think Death would owe me a professional courtesy."

But the same process that overwhelmed his senses and placed him in this cyberworld played havoc on certain aspects of his long-term memory. So it was that Death no longer knew what it felt like--until it happened.

"There is a dreary sameness about this place. An effort at a lesson? The effects of being trapped in one place for too long are well documented...I think I was the one who documented them. I've written scads of material on every conceivable subject. I've been alive longer than civilization was a word. And I wrote the very first known song."

He started to lose it.

"I write the songs that make the whole world sing; I write the songs of love and special things; I write the songs that make the young girls cry; I am Music--and I write the songs...."

In her upstairs bedroom, Cassandra stirred. She was quite groggy.

"Ohhh...Damned radio station…I hate Barry Manilow."

THREE MONTHS LATER

An obscenely large group of stubborn entryway demons on Level 7 lay dead before Methos. Finding the switch that lowered the ceiling had made all the difference.

"Me at full health--body on the outside not about to expire. Time to see what we shall----"

He stopped, and saw the entire temple fall away. In front of him was a single cloven hoof--about 5 feet wide all by itself.

The creature it was attached to was commensurately big. It was a centaur, with hairy fur and golden horns.

Methos gulped.

"Allow me to guess what you're going to say, Mister Giant."

As the great foot came down, Methos heard the expected phrase.

"GREETINGS, BROTHER!!!"

Methos saw the foot slow as the Kronos-faced monster spoke--and then he saw nothing.

Fifty more attempts yielded up no hidden weapons or health restorers. Merely more squished Methos.

* * *

CONSUMER ELECTRONICS SHOW, 1997  
LAS VEGAS

"Now, live via the magic of teleconference, is Cassandra Vox, Founder Of Whitewitch Software. Ms. Vox--as the financier who put together the team that created this year's only million-selling First-Person shooter, how do you respond to the critics of such violent games?"

Cass smiled.

"Far better, I think, to have our young men battle it out on the monitor screen than rampaging in the real world. Let violence live only in our little game. And plenty of it."

Everyone laughed.

"What about the one-time designer of the central code, CB Icrep?"

"Oh, I haven't come across him, of late. He was all run through, last I checked."

"Ms. Vox--let us in on the big secret. Now, the main character in 'Riders'--does he ever get out of Hell?"

She grinned outright.

"No. He never does. After all, if he did--the game would come to an end--and I just couldn't bear that. Besides, who's to say? Maybe he deserves to be there."

* * *

Still finding no weapons, Methos instead used his mind.

"GREETINGS, BROTHER!!!"

When the speech came, and the monster froze, Methos ran past and underneath it, thankful that it had been given no virtual smell. Finding the exit door, he looked outside as he entered. A giant pendulum sliced the cyber-Horse-Man in two. Another digitized voice. Another game freeze.

"YOU'RE HISTORY!!!"

Methos smiled.

"Any one who knows Computers, Cassandra--knows that audio files slow down even the fastest processor. Ta!"

Pulling the exit switch, he did not see yet another new level.

"What the---It's the first entryway again! I'm in a damned beta copy!"

A voice spoke to him.

"Dude--you are like, so frag--"

Methos unloaded a shot--only to find his would be killer was a fading trooper, like himself.

"Curiouser and cur---"

More of them emerged, and Methos killed them all. Their numbers were greater than even the monsters.

"What in the hell is going on here?"

* * *

ANYWHERE

"So you found the Easter Egg?"

"Yah. Yhew--will not believe this. The guys that made The Deathmatch-- programmed in a User Zero. He's like an AI opponent--only he seems like one of us. He has over 10K of frags. Has not been killed--once."

The other one logged on.

"Riiight---till now!"

Methos would be a busy man, as the beta was downloaded--with over 1000 hits a minute.

**Chapter Four: Return To Cinder**

Despite the massive influx of deathmatch users into the game, Methos chose not to exit the first level until he had exhausted all its secrets. He also reasoned out his absurd situation.

"An Easter Egg is an implant inside a game that is thrown in for no other purpose than to amuse the game user. It is well hidden, hence the name. A deathmatch is where users fight each other and log in via-----"

He smiled.

"Modem."

If they could download in, then he could upload out. If his consciousness was trapped in the game, it could be sent elsewhere.

At this point, he was still unbeaten in deathmatches. Most of the demons and monsters were being killed by the newcomers, and vice versa. On occasion, more would appear. But he was Methos, and a few minor demons never got underfoot.

"Alright, now we exit level one..."

But before he could do so, a familiar image appeared.

"Hello---'My Lord'!"

Methos nodded.

"Hello, Cassandra. Here to gloat?"

"In a word, yes. Tell me, how does it feel to be trapped in a place not your own, unable to really contemplate escape, your life completely in the hands of another? It can't feel very good, can it? You were Death to me. To you, I am Life. But I have no horse."

Methos merely shrugged.

"If I had a horse--I'd horsewhip you, my dear. Now, release me."

She smiled, and giggled.

"My, my--we're barking orders when we shouldn't. When we are powerless to back them up. But then, you like to bluster, don't you?"

"Cassandra--release me, then tell me what you've found out about Duncan. Is he well?"

Cassandra shrugged.

"I really don't know. You didn't actually expect me to buy into your story, did you?"

Methos stared blankly.

"What story? MacLeod killed his protégé, screaming about Babylonian demons, and prophecies. Check with Joe Dawson, if you don't believe me."

Cass shook her head.

"Dawson is your friend. Besides, its possible that Duncan and his friend are on sabbatical, but you've convinced everyone I can check with of your story. Checkmate, Methos."

Her paranoid scenario was plausible, and Methos mused, a scheme worthy of him. He almost wished he had thought of it.

"My apologies, Cassandra."

"A bit late for that, don't you think, monster? 3000 years too late?"

"No. I'm not apologizing for my actions. I doubt you'd ever believe or accept that."

"You'd be correct. Then why the apology?"

Methos stared at her in pity.

"Until now, I never realized how completely I destroyed you. Your hate for what I was--what you still see me as is so intense, it keeps you from even checking on Duncan MacLeod. Because if you did--you'd find out that I am capable of telling the truth. And if I am capable of that now, then perhaps there was another reason you spared me in Bordeaux besides our errant boy scout."

Before Cass could refute this, Methos sank to both knees.

"Is this what you want? Fine. Now, release me--or leave me here. But go and find Duncan!"

She pointed up at the ceiling.

"I don't need to."

As she faded, Methos watched a whole new class of enemy enter the game. On downed wings, they flew towards Methos en masse.

"Archangels With Ponytails. Life doesn't get much better than this."

As the lead among the Duncan-faced angelics raised his arms, another game-slowing audio file was heard.

"We're Done."

With the angelic choir ringing in his skull, Methos died yet again. But in this death, he saw that thing he had wished for most fervently.

The barest hint of a way out.

* * *

INTERNET TELECONFERENCE

"Dude--we designed 'Riders On The Apocalypse' to be a toootallly safe game. If some people are abusing it, well then they'd abuse anything. If you're completely lost when you strap on The VR--then don't go there, man."

"He's sooo roit. That Easter Egg is meant to be played with--not played to death. I mean, some of those kidlings may not have been fed properly by their Moms. Or maybe they were od'ing on glue whilst they played. Miz Cass, she refuses to even talk about these bogus charges."

And this was true--largely because she had not been informed of it. But she would be.

**Chapter Five - He Cannot Be Killed....**

The MacLeod-Angels were tough, but in the end, merely another foe, waiting to be tricked.

"That's it, boys...Gads, they're even denser than the real thing."

Methos had been trying to lay off the comments about MacLeod's supposed naiveté. Thinking back, a whole parade of opponents that should have taken his Quickening instead found a katana sword through their necks. Results had to mean something--particularly when all these fools came back for Duncan's head after centuries.

"Wait a minute. Slan shows up. The old alchemist. Kalas, Canus, Kantos----"

Methos knew that people encountered supremely bad patches of luck. But for virtually every Immortal Duncan had ever offended to return within a 5-year period was downright uncanny.

"Could our prophecy have a bit more teeth than I could have ever believed...aagaagagahhhh!!!!"

His brain exploded. The MacAngels moved in, but he cut them all down, and with them any deathmatch entrants to the game. But Methos was no longer in the game. Nor was he in RL, back in The Game. He was in memory, deep and forgotten.

* * *

3500 BCE, THE FERTILE CRESCENT

The Rider, Champion Of Goshen, rode forward to meet his foe.

"I am Kayen, brother of Ebel, son to Edom and Evelyn, exiled children of The Great King Who Has No Name, but is that he is. Are you allied with my rebel uncle, who fell so hotly from my grandfather's mountain kingdom, he seemed The Morningstar?"

The other rider nodded.

"I am servant to Eh'r'mn, as he now calls himself. I offer challenge, to you and to all your kingdom. By this mark on mine eye, I ride the Adversary's Accusatory Path. Through him, I shall fell not only Goshen, but the mountain kingdom, as well."

The first rider shook his head.

"No, I Think Not, you Dark Rider. For to you, I am Death. You are to me an ill humor that passes and is no more. No threat to a Chosen Champion such as I. You are merely--a Pestilence."

* * *

THE PRESENT

"What The Hell Was That?!!"

Methos head was swimming. That wasn't how he had met Kronos. They had both been part of a hired looting party, and then they had been betrayed by their employer. End of story.

"Except--it felt real. It felt--why don't I remember more of my past? I've an excellent memory for most things. But those first five hundred----"

Pushing the possible memories back with all his strength, Methos played the game through once again, finding all its built-in secrets.

But not a way out. Again and again, he went from entryway to giant Kronos. But still nothing worked.

"No--not---againnnnn!!!"

The possible memories resurfaced.

* * *

CAMP SKULLFUL, 1750 BCE

"Ho, Pestilence! What of our Fifth? What, then, of Despair?"

"You Death. Despair delights me with endless carnage. Despair is the final crushing of their spirits. But we on occasion could use hostages to ransom. Even War and Famine know such. Pray you, speak with Despair. For you molded that heart well and truly."

Methos left, and entered the tent he shared with the Fifth Rider, the one known as Despair.

"You Death. How does that Pestilence speak of me?"

Methos smiled at Despair.

"Cassandra--he LOVES you!"

Drawing her serrated sword away from its five-minute children's blood-soaking, she licked the weapon, indicating another target she would soon taste.

"And should not a Brother love his Sister?"

He grabbed her, and they both laughed. He raised her skirt.

"Let's find that out!"

* * *

In the present, Methos still felt as though his consciousness was being drawn away.

"What the Deuce?"

* * *

The two programmers kept on adding to their subscriber list.

"We should rally tell Cass bout those brats buying the farm, ya know?"

"Nah, man. We'll do that later. Our pay-site for the hints is givin' us more'n she ever did. Sides', when ya play The Game, ya watch out fer yer own Head."

"Kay, I guess. Say, who's ?"

"Dunno. Prolly a supplier. E-Mail him the total package. Good relations."

The button, as they say, was pushed.

* * *

In 'Riders', Methos felt an influx of information. He shouldn't have. But due to Cassandra's spell, and the nature of VR, something damned odd had occurred.

"If I'm right...."

Methos cleared a roomful of enemies in moments with a gatling gun that now never ran out of ammo.

Darting through walls that now could no longer hold him, he cleared out yet another group.

Finally, he saw briefly his own reflection. His eyes were glowing, his armor unscratched and his health at its fullest.

He laughed out loud.

"I Am Immortal!" 

**Chapter Six - Revelations 86ed!**

In his virtual world, far realer than most would have thought possible, Methos aimed his infinite chain gun willy-nilly, sometimes pounding spots just because he could. He looked at the smoking barrel when all opponents were dust.

"This is no social crisis--this is me having fun!"

In fact, except for the isolation, imprisonment, and sameness of the environment, Methos decided this was a life both familiar and somewhat fun. After all, what had his life as Death consisted of but killing the same-looking opponents while unkillable in the same deserts and valleys?

That last thought reminded him of the two reasons he had given up that life. One--it was all the same, after a time. Two--his opponents were not face-simple demons--but people, whose faces he began to remember.

"I have to get out of here."

But the timing was all wrong, and as he emerged to again fight the giant Kronos-Centaur, he knew it. The thing gave its game-slowing message.

"Greetings, Brother!"

As he bypassed the behemoth yet again, despite his new invincibility, Methos wondered something out loud.

"How in the hell did Cassandra manage to sample Kronos' voice?"

* * *

JOE'S TAVERN, SEACOUVER

Joe Dawson raised an eyebrow.

"You have some nerve, calling me here, now. But I am glad you called. Things have been a mess. We finally gave up on Richie coming back."

Doing an eerily pitch perfect imitation, Vox Domina-also known as Cassandra-answered Joe in Methos' own voice.

"Coming back? From where, exactly?"

Dawson shrugged.

"Call me a fool--but with Mac seeing illusions, Richie seeing illusions, and Mac--acting the way he did--I held out hope that Richie's death was just another illusion. So we delayed the service. I wish we hadn't. Amanda walked in and dumped over the casket."

Cass almost couldn't breathe.

"Why--would she do such a thing?"

"She--thought it was a joke. She nearly had an emboulism when the head fell off again. The mortician threw a fit. Amanda was almost as upset as I was, and you and I were there when Rich bought it."

There it was. Cass had it. Methos had not relayed the incident to Dawson--both had nearly witnessed it. But The Oldest was still tricky. So Cass went further.

"I've really found nothing, on my end. What of Duncan's demon?"

Joe nodded, jogging through some notes.

"Welll--if you wanted to let a superstition rule your life, then this is a good one to do it with and a good time to do it in. There's a lot of evidence that a good mystic could use to say that a millennial demon is about--and that Mac is his opponent. But let's face it—it's all crap. Mac is gone round the bend. Can I ask you a question?"

Maintaining her voice, Cass tried to sound casual.

"Of course, Joe. We're all friends here."

Joe asked his question.

"Where is he, Cassandra?"

Then he hung up. An unnerved Cass looked out the windows, not seeing anyone, but not really needing to.

"Oh---yeah. I forgot."

* * *

That night, Cass awoke with her own VR equipment strapped across her face. She had been drugged.

Her two junior programmers activated the program.

"See, if we kill her and bury her, they'll ask soooo man-e questions, dude. But if Cass trips out on her own wares--then its just desserts. Meanwhile, we're goner than, with loads and loads and no extra-dites."

"Yah, I guess and stuff. So what if 1 percent of the overfed bratwurts that used it ain't ever comin' back? Out of 1 million sold, how many could that really be?"

Cass heard a hellish figure cited as the program sucked her in.

"Errr--a hundred--no, a thousand. Nah, wait. It killed ten thousand. But like, who cares? What are they to us?"

"Nothin. Nothin at all."

A global village had been destroyed, while she slept contented by dreams of vengeance.

* * *

She arose in the virtual world, and saw her now-fellow prisoner. But his face seemed gentled, somehow. Perhaps he had learned his lesson. And it was perhaps no longer he who needed to learn it.

"Methos--ten thousand."

He nodded.

"I know. We'll figure it out. I'm not convinced you're entirely at fault. But, Cassandra--for right here, for right now---"

He pulled her off the 'floor'.

"Come with me if you want to live." 

**Chapter Seven - A Partial Ledger**

The two amoral programmers never got out of The United Kingdom. A mob of angry parents found them, and that was that. A note found on them indicated that they had disposed of Whitewitch Software's President and CEO, Cassandra Vox. The matter seemed to be settled.

But this 'matter' was literally as old as the hills.

Inside the virtual world that was far more, Methos and Cassandra fought side by side, against the demons and beings of a first-person shooter game. With one level clear, Methos paused and looked at his very unwilling partner and former captor.

"You're no fool, Cassandra. So how could you not know of the deaths that were being attributed to the game software?"

She paused, and had no immediate answer. She wondered if she ever would, and ever could.

"I know now that they rerouted all my e-mail. I don't answer phone or fax anymore. I--also don't answer to you!"

But Methos was having none of it.

"You let those morons peddle their toxic wares because you were busy keeping me in here. You kept me in here because you hate me. You hate me because of what I did to you. That fact puts those deaths on my ledger. THAT is why you answer to me."

Cass looked lost.

"For once, you're right. But ten thousand children, Methos--I just never expected to be in your league."

Despite himself, Methos interrupted her self-pity fest.

"Firstly--I'd like to know a little bit more about that lead programmer you skewered. Secondly--on the worst, most bitter day of your life, you are nothing at all like me. Nowadays, even I am not like me. MacLeod's a bad influence."

Cass shook her head.

"I have just cause to hate you. Massively just. But I pursued my justice at the cost of innocents. I turned a blind eye. How may I rid myself of your stain?"

He shrugged.

"By walking away. Forgetting I exist. Pretend that your village was eaten by locusts, and that you were caught in their stinging swarm for a time. I am not worth hating, Cassandra. Neither my friends nor my enemies have ever profited by knowing me. For both our sakes, scrape me off. Besides, if one of us kills the other, we're stuck together till the Gathering."

She sat down in that place-which was no place.

"You make it sound so easy. But I once worshipped you. Then, I thought you were The Devil. It's not so easy to make you into nothing, Methos. But--you raised a good point, damn you. All right--until the time of The Final Gathering, we do not know each other nor do we share any history. But first, we must be free. Then--I have to turn myself----"

Methos waved his hands.

"No---way. I raped you, once. I'll not see you end up in prison, for it all to happen again. I have hidden accounts. We'll settle with the lawyers for the parents."

She looked up in disgust.

"Think so, do you? A child's life for a few cool million?"

He couldn't take any more.

"Get up--we're getting out of here. Now, you are invincible, as am I here. Go through the next level---without firing a single shot."

Escape lay around the corner. But could Cass truly escape from the specter of Methos--and herself?

**Chapter Eight - Balances Barely Made**

The two were under direct assault by every enemy in the last level. But as per Methos' instructions, not a shot was fired. Cassandra began to shake, from the noise of it all.

"Can't I fire off the big gun, and at least clear some of them out?"

Methos was emphatic.

"No! We need their noise to end this nightmare. Now--into the courtyard. Time to face Giant Kronos and his slayer."

The MacAngels were screaming. The Silases were firing their chain guns, and The Caspians their rifles. The Kristin-Heads were spinning fireballs, and The Kalas-Demons were spiked death.

Then came the voice of The Master Of The Night.

"Greetings, Brother!"

Methos pointed.

"Back inside--then out again, repeatedly!."

"Alright!"

And they went, and the phrase was repeated, half repeated, and quarter-repeated--many hundreds of times.

"Greeettings..."

Each time it spoke, it slowed. Finally, with all the enemies plus Kronos about, Methos made for but did not enter the escape alcove. Then, the giant Archangel MacLeod came down with his sword.

"You're Historrrrrrrrrr...."

"Cassandra! Enter and exit the courtyard entrance then join me here!"

She could barely hear him, but understood well enough. Causing the phrases to repeat, she clambered next to Methos.

"What are we doing?!"

He smiled, despite his savage physical pain.

"Computer Logic 101, M'Dear. Never run too many audio files at any one time. Now, we should see a----"

As Methos had foretold, the computer at long last began to crash. The courtyard cleared as the frozen images overlapped and faded forever.

Oddly, Giant Kronos did not. For some reason, he achieved human form, and drew his sword on the stunned pair.

"Till we meet again, sweet siblings--and we will. Such Is The Word Of Pestilence--Such Is The Word Of Kronos--Master Of The Night."

Then, he effortlessly cut off their heads.

* * *

For a full four days the exhausted pair lay together in the real world, their now useless VR equipment still on.

Methos counted himself fortunate to awake first. Promise or no, he did not wish to push his luck with Cassandra.

Quickly, he wolfed down enough bacon and eggs to feed an army. He also cleansed a stench off himself much like that of a stable-hand's shovel.

When she awoke, Cass did not go after Methos, choosing to clean herself up on a lower floor. She hated the thought of leaving this little house, but it was registered through Cassandra Vox, and that woman was now dead.

After eating a perhaps wiser meal of fruit and oats, she found Methos on her computer.

"If I ask what you're doing, will you tell me?"

Methos was deconstructing the game program's core code.

"Your lead programmer was a nice piece of twisty bread, you know that?"

"You have something? Something on the children?"

"In a word, yes. In four words : It wasn't your fault. That man put a diabolical little bug in it all. And yes--that's myself saying diabolical."

Cass looked.

"What bug? A subliminal message?"

"Nothing so open or honest. A small lightshow. Too small to produce epilepsy, or like symptoms, in the vulnerable. I've seen it before. See the fractal patterns? Meaningless one at a time. Taken all together--and suddenly every little worry in your head makes your blood boil with anger. Soon, your system merely gives out. Clever bastard. Or--that's what he liked to think of himself as."

Scared to be completely in the hands of one so utterly devious, Cass spoke up.

"I think you should go."

Methos nodded.

"In a minute. I'm awaiting an E-Mail from the attorneys in the class action lawsuit."

"You idiot! Methos, how could you contact them?"

But the response came :

"OFFER ACCEPTED; FUNDS RECIEVED."

Cass stared.

"What just happened?"

He shrugged.

"You're off the hook. I claimed to be Whitewitch Software's Underwriter, and gave them a whole lot of money to allow Cass Vox to rest in peace. Doesn't help the children--but if we two are to enjoy a truce, its best I help where I can."

Cass saw the figures.

"Where--did you--get--that kind of money?"

"I--didn't. The funds belonged to a -- late relative -- of mine, with whom I had a falling out. I believe you knew the man."

Cass had to sit down.

"He--he--HE had THAT much?"

Methos got up to go.

"Well, did you think he planned to take over the rule of this planet on his tab? My brother was both a murderer and a miser. A penny saved, a planet earned."

"Yes. I--well. His Blood money to pay for blood I helped spill. Where will you go, now?"

Methos looked about.

"Well, it's been over a year. Surely MacLeod has beaten the demon by now. Perhaps I'll check on Dense On A Horse."

She stopped him, one last time.

"I'd like things to be done between us. For good."

He nodded.

"We're bright folk. We'll figure something out. Be well, Cassandra."

She shook her head.

"It's not in me to wish you the same. Maybe someday."

"Perhaps. Who knows? Maybe one day I can even tell MacLeod I'm down to 999."

* * *

"With that, he left me, and I let him leave, for he was right, damn him. A duel means togetherness, after it's fought. I also wanted him to go before he started in about Stockholm syndrome again. What the bastard never realized was that I never fell in love with my rapist. At my worst, I'm simply not that pathetic. No, the one I loved was the man that would creep out from the monster. The one who was gentle, and kind. The one who hid from Kronos. Now, having glimpsed him again in foregone vengeance, I am confused. I no longer wish to hate Methos. I wish to be free. I thought I was free, til he showed his face here. But more than his face, I hated my own back then. For I was a little Nothing, a victim who took it and took it. So much hate."

"If he wishes to help me, I will accept it, even if it's all part of one of his wretched plans. I need to use Methos to scrape him off me, and so I shall. But what of the part that does not scrape off?"

"As I finish this recording, I recall Methos briefly wondering why I had the programmer put in that last Kronos appearance, where he took us both. I have checked every line in the entire program, and have no idea how to tell Methos the truth."

"There was no human Kronos in that game. So where did he come from? Our combined imaginations? Or is the banned game 'Riders On The Apocalypse' about to leap off the web for good? Despite all logic, will The Four Horsemen Ride Again?"

With that chilling thought, Cass stopped recording and went to sleep, her soul at once calmer and more shaken than she had ever known it.

In her dreams, she saw 10,000 children, and though he would likely never tell her, so did Methos.

They two were not yet done.

THE END


End file.
